


Long Days

by BarkImAFish



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Complete, Depressed Peter Parker, Drama, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Angst, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Poor Peter Parker, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Poverty, Protective Tony Stark, Teen Peter Parker, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-08-04 13:43:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 18,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16347812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarkImAFish/pseuds/BarkImAFish
Summary: Peter refused to let May take on a third job to stabilize their increasingly tight finances. Instead, Peter is determined to handle school, friends, his neighborhood duties, and a new job. Mutants don't need sleep, right?





	1. Chapter 1

It had been a long day for Peter Parker. Between his chemistry test, spilled lunch, and all the drunk guys he practically carried home in the rain during his evening patrol, he was wiped. When he carefully opened his bedroom window and quietly climbed into his room for the night, he immediately stripped off his suit and fell back onto his bed. There was nothing quite like the feeling of dropping like a dead weight onto a warm fluffy bed after a hard day.

The young teen would have fallen asleep as soon as his head hit his pillow if it weren't for his mutant senses, having been heightened to detect even the quietest whispers. Normally, the apartment was quiet at eleven at night because his Aunt May was in bed, cramming in a few hours of sleep before her pre-sunrise morning shift. But tonight, Peter could hear small sniffles coming from the other side of his door. He pulled himself out of his bed and crept to his door, pressing his ear close.

Yes, Aunt May was definitely crying.

Peter's heart began to race. The last time he saw his aunt cry was at Uncle Ben's funeral. He used to think that the dead were the most broken of humanity. That is, until he had looked into the eyes of his freshly-widowed aunt. Peter didn't want to see her crying again, but the compulsion to comfort her outweighed the small feelings of dread within him. He threw on some sweatpants and a shirt and stepped out of his room.

The only light came from a small corner lamp in the living room, casting dark shadows everywhere but somehow managing to dimly illuminate May who was seated at the kitchen's small island. Papers were strewn about. Aunt May had her face in her hands.

Peter slowly stepped over to her. Softly, he called out, "May?"

She jerked her face out of her hands, exclaiming "Peter! Your room was so quiet: I didn't know you were still awake!" May avoided looking at Peter. She began picking up some of the papers, organizing them, shuffling them: anything to seem more in-control than she had looked seconds before.

Peter stepped up to the counter and recognized the papers: bills. The teen didn't know everything about the way that their rent worked, but he knew that if their utility fees surpassed the amount covered by rent, their landlord would charge them the difference. It seemed like a good plan, but their rent didn't cover much so they always ended up with bills to pay. These plus the extra costs of phone plans, internet, cable, food, Peter's school fees, occasional emergencies, and other necessities required tight monthly budgeting. Peter ventured, "Is everything… okay?"

Aunt May forced a short laugh, "Of course, hun, everything's fine." Then, trying to change the subject, "You should really be getting to bed. You have school tomorrow."

"You should, too. What are you doing up so late?" Peter didn't want to let up. He knew May liked to be strong in front of him, but he wanted to help if there was something wrong.

May sighed, looking like a deflated balloon as her posture slackened. "Just, you know, sorting out some finances for the month."

"How bad is it?" Peter asked in a near whisper. The observant boy already partially knew the answer: it was always bad since Uncle Ben died. In fact, to make up for it, they had cut back on quite a few things in the house over the past few months. They no longer subscribed to Netflix or Hulu. In fact, they stopped TV altogether when they ended their cable contract. They also switched to a cheaper, shared data plan for their phones. The two also agreed that electronics be completely unplugged unless it was currently being used, that Peter arrive early to school to shower, and that laundry be done once every other week.

The shower situation really sucked, but Peter's least favorite cut-back was the food. May only bought enough food for breakfast and dinner, and Peter had to sign up for the free lunch program at school. Sometimes, when their cabinets looked truly empty, Aunt May would come home with a package of meat and a boxed starch, and Peter was sure that she had caved and stopped by a community soup kitchen on the way home. It had been really hard on him with his high metabolism, so lately Peter had been stopping at Ned's house on the way home from school for a snack. He felt guilty, but medical bills due to malnutrition were the last thing May should have to deal with.

"It's not‒"

"Please don't lie," Peter interjected.

May sighed again. Slowly, she turned her face to look at her nephew. She loved him so much. A kid shouldn't have to worry about finances. But things were looking bleak, and he deserved to know. "I don't know that we'll have enough to pay the rent for next month."

Silence.

May, reading the panic in Peter's face, rushed to calm him. "But don't worry about it! I'm already looking for another job‒"

"You already have two," Peter noted. The teen was angry at himself for his inability to hide his emotions well. "Let me get a job."

"No, no, no," May said, rejecting the idea. "You have school and the Stark internship. Those are too important for your future. Let me handle this."

"No, it's fine. Really. It was getting boring anyway. I'm not really getting anywhere with it. Not sure if I even want to be an engineer anymore," Peter lied.

"Peter." She stood up, brushed a stray piece of hair out of her nephew's eyes, and cupped his face.

Her eyes looked so sad. Peter was grateful for the dim lighting, hiding the tears that were forming in his own eyes. He took her hand off of his face and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "This is our best option," he spoke, forcing his voice to remain as steady as possible.

She looked away from him.

"May. Let me do this for us."

"Okay."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is exhausted from his new job, and Tony worries about what secrets Peter might be hiding.

Peter tossed his schoolbag onto the floor of his room, not caring that papers and notebooks spilled out onto the floor. All he could think about was his bed. He had about fifteen minutes to lay down and do nothing before his three-thirty alarm told him get ready for work.

The exhausted teen audibly groaned into his pillow. He had a full six-hour shift today from four to ten. By the time he got home at night, he had no energy for homework, let alone a neighborhood patrol. He hadn't even looked at his suit since he was hired about three weeks ago. He desperately missed swinging between buildings, helping old ladies cross the street, and guiding children back to their parents. Last week, Peter decided never to complain about walking drunk men home again. Looking back, that was far easier than pouring lattes for people who had high standards about coffee drinks that they didn't seem to quite understand. Explaining the difference between iced coffee and cold brew to someone who was clearly used to getting their caffeine from 7/11 required far more energy than preventing a collision between two trucks.

Regardless, Peter refused to give up his employment. His paychecks were covering their phone bill and food in the house. It was possible to survive without phones, but food was a necessity and Peter needed a lot of it.

Peter's eyes hadn't been closed for more than five minutes before his phone rang.

He groaned again.

Keeping his face pressed into the pillow and not bothering to look at the caller ID, Peter brought the phone to his ear. "Parker."

"Hey, how's it goin', kid? I got something in the lab you'll want to see. Happy'll stop by at pick you up at six, got it?"

Peter jumped out of his bed, exhaustion having been replaced by surprise. He couldn't remember the last time Tony Stark had personally called. And the mechanic had something in his lab for Peter? The aspiring Avenger could hardly believe it.

"Wow, Mr. Stark, that sounds great‒"

"Great, then I'll see‒"

"‒but I can't go," Peter admitted, regretfully. He would lose his job if he called out of work with less than an hour before the start of his shift.

"Oh? Well, then tomorrow Happy can‒"

"I can't do tomorrow either. Sunday after two should be okay." Usually Peter had morning shifts on the weekends.

"Geez, Mr. Popular, I guess if you don't mind squeezing me into your busy schedule."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark." Peter glanced at the clock on his wall. 3:28. "Uh, actually I gotta go now. I'll see you on Sunday!" And he ended the call. A month ago, Peter would have replayed the conversation in his head a hundred times, thinking of all the ways that the conversation could have gone differently. But today, he had to get ready for work and that included the mental preparation of his patience. On long days like these, he didn't have time to worry about anything besides the problems immediately in front of him.

* * *

 

Tony stared at his phone. Since when did the kid end calls with Tony because he had other things to do? Happy had said that Parker hadn't been texting as often as he used to. Almost immediately, Stark's anxiety stirred up. What if he was in trouble? What if he was seriously injured? What if someone identified him and was now using his identity to blackmail him? What if the aunt found out, and the kid was right about her freaking out about it? What if he realized that his mentor was actually a walking piece of crap, and now he didn't want anything to do with Tony?

To calm himself, Tony tried to think of some positive explanations. Maybe he got a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend. Maybe he did join the wrestling team, and he's got a string of tournaments lined up. Maybe he decided to take classes at a university because the kid's a genius, and the classes are taking a lot of time. Yeah. Maybe the kid is just working hard.

Regardless, Tony decided to figure it out on Sunday.


	3. Chapter 3

"Peter. Peter!" Ned poked his sleeping friend's face with the eraser on his pencil.

Peter jerked upright. "I'm here! Oh, it's over." He watched as students packed up and raced out to their next class.

Ned whispered, "Dude, you fell asleep again. I thought you said‒"

"Mr. Parker! I'd like to speak to you for a moment," his calculus teacher called. Meeting Ned's eyes, Mr. Castine asked, "Mr. Leeds, could you please excuse us?"

Ned dumped his textbook and papers into his bag. "I'll see ya later," he muttered, leaving Peter alone.

Peter's stomach flipped. He didn't get spoken to by teachers very often. Not like this. Sure, Castine hadn't said anything yet, but the chances that he was about to compliment his student were slim.

Mr. Castine's gaze followed Peter as he packed up his things and proceeded to the front of the room. The kid looked like he hadn't slept in days with his disheveled hair and gaunt face. Even more noticeable, though, was the fact that his backpack was held together by staples and the soles of his shoes were fastened to the canvas by duct tape. When the teen reached him, Castine wordlessly handed Peter some stapled papers.

A test. A test with a glaring, red number circled at the top: 43.

Peter felt his throat closing up. This was his own failing grade. He had never failed anything in all of his years in school. Not a single thing. He just wasn't that type of student. He felt his hands start to tremble, but he couldn't stop staring at the ugly mark.

"Mr. Parker…" Castine began slowly. "It's November. I have a pretty good idea of what your usual marks are. This," he said, motioning to the paper in Peter's hands, "isn't it."

Peter couldn't form words. The amount of stress that was currently sitting on his chest and shoulders was preventing him from even opening his mouth. He wanted to scream. To cry.  _To sleep._

"Peter, please look at me," Castine ordered softly. When their eyes finally met, Peter saw pain in his teacher's eyes as if his student's failure was his own. "You're falling asleep in class, missing homework deadlines, and now failing tests. What's going on here? This isn't like you."

Peter's silence continued.

"Is it the class? Maybe a tutor‒"

"No." Peter surprised himself with his own harsh tone. He couldn't bear the thought of having to find time for mandatory tutoring. He already didn't have time for the mandatory homework. "It's- It's not the material. It's fine."

Mr. Castine let Peter slide. Scolding the kid for his attitude wouldn't solve anything. "Okay, then what is it, Peter? What can I do? I can't let you drown in this workload. You spiraling out of control isn't going to get anyone anywhere."

Peter absentmindedly shook his head. He didn't have the energy to compose an entire lie, but he wasn't going to talk about the problems at home. He opted for: "I guess I just don't have time to study at home. Lot of distractions, I guess."

Mr. Castine sighed and rubbed the stubble around his jawline. In that moment, Peter realized how young his calculus teacher was. He couldn't have been more than thirty years old. "Well, what about in the morning? How about you come into school half an hour before homeroom and we can catch you up on homework, huh? I'll give you half-credit for your missed work."

He would have to wake up earlier. Get even less sleep. Be even more tired. But it would satisfy Castine, so Peter relented. "Yeah, I can do that. Thank you." He turned to leave the room.

"Great to hear that. Oh, and Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"Try and get to bed early tonight. You're too young to be looking that tired," Castine teased, his smile warm but his eyes full of concern for the kid.

Peter just looked away. He wanted to put the whole subject out of his head. He didn't have time to worry about going to bed earlier tonight or waking up earlier on Monday: he was losing precious time for his one guaranteed meal of the day. Like always, he only had enough energy to focus on the problems directly at hand.

* * *

That night, Peter lay awake in his bed. His disappointingly low test had been shoved deep in a desk drawer, not to be seen by Aunt May. He didn't want her to know that he was struggling to find time for homework. He wasn't too concerned about it though. Because their schedules hardly overlapped, they didn't talk much anymore except through text. Even now, at one in the morning, she was working her night shift at the bar.

His mind drifted to his weekend schedule. He loved Saturdays: the one day that he could sleep in. When he wakes up, he'll go grocery shopping with his Friday paycheck. He thought he had enough tips to splurge on some fresh tomatoes. Maybe.

Tomatoes. In his exhausted mind, their red color reminded him of Tony.

Crap. He would be seeing his mentor on Sunday for the first time in over a month, and Spider-Man hadn't done his job in about the same amount of time. At least May would be out for the afternoon and evening, busy with her shift at the department store. She wouldn't be home to see Peter go with Tony whose fake internship her nephew supposedly quit.

Peter sighed and curled into a ball. Maybe he should just be honest with Stark and tell him that he didn't have time for Spider-Man anymore. Maybe Stark would understand.

But Tony Stark was a billionaire. Not only that, but he grew up with wealth, too. There was a good chance that he wouldn't understand Peter's struggles at all. Stark could refuse to donate advanced technology to a nearly-homeless kid in Queens. Stark might decide to quit wasting his time on a kid who couldn't spare any time of his own.

Peter pulled his blankets tighter around him. The thoughts continued to swarm, and scripted conversations played over and over in his head. The stress was merciless, keeping him from the thing he wanted most these days besides money: sleep. It wasn't until some time after May came home that Peter's mind finally slowed to a crawl and he was able to slip into a dream-less rest.


	4. Chapter 4

Peter was sitting at his desk in his room, staring out his window, and thinking of all the things he could be doing. He had an English paper to bullshit, biology cycles to get lost in, history dates to memorize. The list felt endless.

It was a rather mild Sunday. Thanksgiving was approaching, but the weather didn't seem to want to accept the coming winter chill. Peter was grateful. He wasn't sure if his boots from last winter even fit anymore, but he was positive that the tape on his sneakers wouldn't keep out the slushy ice.

Just as he opened a textbook, his phone buzzed.

::  _Outside._  ::

It was Happy. Peter took a breath to steady himself. He still wasn't sure what he was going to tell his mentor. Right before he walked out, he went back to find his suit at the bottom of his closet and stuffed it into his backpack to bring it with him. At least it would seem like he was always prepared for something.

Happy was leaning against the car on the driver's side, watching the door for Peter. When the kid finally walked out, he didn't exactly look like what Happy had expected. The boy's clothes didn't seem to fit him quite right; they seemed to hang loosely from his shoulders as if supported by a closet hanger instead of a muscular mutant body. The kid also looked paler than usual. Nevertheless, Happy decided not to jump to any conclusions. Maybe he was just sick.

The security guard thought this until Peter looked up from the ground and locked eyes with Happy. The boy quickly pulled his face away, but Happy had already seen it all ‒or maybe it was more accurate to say that he had seen nothing. Usually, the kid's face was lit up with excitement, and he talked a million word per minute. Today, his eyes showed no such spark, and he didn't even want to look at Happy.

Tony was right. Something was up.

Once in the car, Happy tried to strike a conversation with Peter, but the teen didn't seem interested. His responses were short, and his laughter sounded forced. He finally gave up when Peter frankly asked, "Hey, could we maybe talk about school later? I'm a little tired now." Peter leaned his head against the cool window and closed his eyes for the rest of the drive.

* * *

"Hey, you awake? We're here," Happy announced.

Peter picked his head up. They were parked in front of the Avengers' compound. He thought back to the time when his main goal was to be accepted as an Avenger, be someone that Stark could count on. That wouldn't be happening any time soon.

Happy escorted Peter to the stairs that led to Tony's lab. "Mr. Stark is just down there. I'll be here when you're ready to go." With that, Happy left.

At the bottom of the stairs, the doors slid open for Peter automatically. He couldn't immediately see Stark, but the thumping bass of Aerosmith ‒or AC/DC or Led Zeppelin or maybe none of those because Peter was pretty bad at differentiating the various rock artists‒ was confirmation that the mechanic was definitely at work. The lab was proof as well: metal constructs were scattered around, detailed blueprint holographs covered the walls, and the trashcan closest to Peter was filled with paper coffee cups and food wrappers.

"Pete!" Tony waved away the transparent-projection model he had been looking at. "FRIDAY, turn the volume down." As the kid made his way over, Tony couldn't help but smile; he really did miss the kid.

However, Tony's excitement was quickly replaced with concern. One look at the kid confirmed his suspicions that Peter was hiding something. For one, the kid didn't immediately skip over to Tony to catch the older man up on all his classes, friendships, and internet jokes. Furthermore, the kid smelled a little like he hadn't showered in a couple days, and his shoes looked like they were one thread away from dissolving into puddles around his feet. Despite all his judgements, Tony continued to grin at his mentee. If Tony looked uncomfortable or unhappy, Peter would get embarrassed and probably start apologizing for things he didn't even do. Tony forced himself to sound relaxed when he said, "How's it going, kid?" He playfully ruffled the top of Peter's head. Greasy. Too long.

Peter responded "I'm fine" before he could stop his reflexes. On Friday night, he had arrived to the conclusion that he wasn't totally fine, but it didn't really matter. During the car ride, he had decided not to involve Stark in his home life. If not for himself then for May: she'd be so embarrassed. Besides, he didn't want to be the billionaire's charity case. Wanting to change the subject, he asked, "What're you working on?"

Tony saw the diversion tactic, but he allowed it. The kid was unusually tense. Science might help him ease up. "C'mon over here, and I'll show you what I got for you." Putting a hand on Peter's shoulder to guide him to a different corner of the large lab, Tony noticed how bony he was. He was sure now that the kid had lost weight. Tony stopped them. "Did you eat lunch?"

Peter looked up at his mentor. He couldn't read Tony's face, but the question was out of place. It wasn't really lunch time. "It's, like, three o'clock."

"I know what time it is."

Peter knew he should lie. If he told the truth that he didn't eat lunch because there was no school on Sundays, it would lead to a bigger conversation that he didn't want to have. At the same time, he was hungry. Hunger and exhaustion were the most reliable things in his life right now. In the end, he looked away from Stark and succumbed to the thought of food. "No, I didn't eat lunch."

* * *

An hour later, Peter had forgotten to act like he wasn't starving, and he was wiping pizza crust dust off of his hands. A large pie and a half's worth of pizza dust. Plus the bag of fries. And a large chocolate milkshake. He hadn't felt so full in weeks. Now all he needed was a nice long nap…

"Pete! You with me?" Tony nudged Peter's leg. The kid had inhaled all the food then put his head on the table as if to go to bed. His sleepiness wasn't much of a surprise. The kid was so tired that he couldn't even follow the new codes that Tony had written for his Spider suit. Fortunately, Tony thought that this state of mind would make it easier for the kid to open up.

Peter gave a chuckle. He was so sleep-deprived that it was making him feel groggy. It felt like he had been drinking at a party for the past few hours, but it was late so everyone had gone home, leaving him alone on a couch with his thoughts. Except he wasn't alone because Tony was here. "Yeah, yeah, I'm awake. What's next?"

Tony took a seat next to the kid. "How about we just talk for a few minutes?"

"We don't really need to do that," Peter mumbled.

Stark was trying to choose his words carefully. He didn't want to corner the kid, so he started with a concrete question. "I just want to know what happened to your shoes."

"Oh," Peter said, genuinely surprised. He could handle a simple question like that. "Well, they're getting to be a little old. And, like, a little over month ago, I was trying out Ned's bike, but the chain popped out while I was going downhill, so I couldn't stop and I fell and my sneakers scraped really hard on the concrete‒"

"They're pretty beat up," Tony pointed out, stopping Peter from completely rambling. "You didn't get a new pair?"

Peter flushed. "Uh, no. It's not really in the budget right now."

"In the budget?"

"I don't really want to get into this, Mr. Stark."

"Pete, if this is a money thing‒"

"It's fine. I'm handling it." Peter's easy-going sleepiness was turning into angry fatigue.

"You're fifteen. You shouldn't have to‒"

"I said it's  _fine_!" Peter snapped. He pushed back from the table and stood up. Fueled with food, Peter became defensive and bold. "Listen, you can't help me. You wouldn't even understand."

"Then help me to," Tony demanded, also standing. He was failing to keep the edge out of his voice. "You're here in dirty clothes and torn shoes, and you're starving and exhausted." Tossing his hands up, he exclaimed in exasperation, "What's going on? Why can't I help you?"

"It's-," Peter wavered for a moment before deciding to verbally punch Tony in the gut with "It's none of your business!" He grabbed his backpack and made for the stairs.

"Wait," Tony called out after Peter. He couldn't believe how badly this conversation had played out. "Peter, wait!"

At the sound of his full name, Peter stopped. Tony never called him 'Peter.'

When the teen turned around, Tony had caught up to him. Up close like this, Peter could see concern all over his mentor's face. "Please," Tony begged, "I'm sorry. We don't have to talk about this. Just promise me that you'll talk to me if you're in trouble. Please."

Peter was silent at first. Then, "Fine. But I'm not in trouble. I'm fine." He pulled away from Stark and continued to the door. Remembering his manners, he added, "Thank you for lunch, Mr. Stark."

* * *

That night, Tony was sitting on his bed, staring at the floor.

"So, he just kept saying that you wouldn't understand?" Pepper asked, rubbing Tony's back. She could tell how worried he was about Peter. And from his description of the teen, she felt worried, too.

"Yeah." He shook his head. What problem could be so complex that Tony Stark wouldn't understand it? "What do I do?"

Pepper sighed. She knew his anxiety would be acting up until he was sure that Peter wasn't in danger. "There's not much you can do. I think you just need to give him some space. He believes in you, Tony. He'll come to you when he's ready."

Tony leaned forward to put his face in his hands. He hated himself for not being able to help Peter right now, but he knew Pepper was right. He couldn't force the kid to talk. He just hoped that Peter would come to him before it was too late.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usually I update, like, about once a week or so? But this story is already on another site so I'm trying to get AO3 up to speed without posting the entire story at once.

Calculus is hard even for a student like Peter, and attempting calculus at seven in the morning makes it even harder. Yet, after a few days, he found himself looking forward to his unofficial tutoring sessions with Mr. Castine.

For one, his teacher was accepting some of his missed work as well as giving him time to do the current work. Peter's calculus grade started looking better after just a few days. Not only that, but Mr. Castine, sensing that Peter was overwhelmed with schoolwork, also encouraged Peter to work on things for other classes.

Second, the math enthusiast was surprisingly charismatic. On mornings when Peter was too tired to talk, the young teacher filled the silence with stories about his fiancé, his dogs, his strange neighbors, cooking failures, TV shows, and whatever else the man could think of. Castine proved to be talented in manipulating both numbers and words to captivate his listeners. By the end of the morning, Peter had usually relaxed significantly and opened up to share a few of his own stories.

Lastly, Peter realized that Castine genuinely cared for his student's well-being.

If Peter stumbled in and was too tired to distinguish a sine curve from a cosine curve, the teacher told Peter to put his books away and take a nap. "Don't worry, I'll wake you up before homeroom."

If Peter walked in and refused to look up from the ground, somehow Castine knew he was on the verge of tears from a particularly hard night or from the thought of the day's responsibilities. Instead of starting homework exercises, Castine suggested that they use the projector to watch something on Netflix instead. "Sometimes the best thing you can do for yourself is take a break," he had said to Peter.

And if Peter's stomach was audibly growling, Castine would open up the bottom drawer of his desk and pull out a box of granola bars. At first the teacher thought Peter missed breakfast on accident, but it became apparent very quickly that Peter just never ate in the morning.

"Your stomach is always growling, Pete. Why don't you ever eat something?"

Peter shrugged.

"C'mon, let's sneak you into the teacher's lounge and make some coffee, okay?"

Their coffee trips became a daily occurrence, and Peter looked forward to it. It had become another guaranteed meal ‒if coffee and a granola bar could be considered a meal.

It was on one of these coffee trips that Peter explained why he never seemed to have time to do homework. "I work at the café almost every day. The shift starts, like, as soon as I get home."

Mr. Castine nodded in understanding. "Yeah, I had a job when I was in high school, too, but I didn't work more than fifteen hours per week. Can't you cut back a little?"

The teen shook his head and looked at the ground. "We can't afford that."

"Pete, it's not your job to be the money-maker. Being a good student is your job."

"I can do both," Peter reassured the man.

Castine's voice dropped and he commented softly, "I'm not so sure about that."

"Well, I don't really have a choice now, do I?" Peter snapped.

Castine put his hands up. "Okay, okay. But Peter?"

The boy didn't look up.

"Peter, please tell me if it gets too bad."

"Yeah, fine."

To change the subject, Castine asked politely, "So, any plans for Thanksgiving? Visiting any family?"

In previous years, Uncle Ben, Aunt May, and Peter had visited some extended family members on Ben's side. Peter already knew they wouldn't be doing that this year. A couple nights ago, Peter had divided his paycheck and realized that there wouldn't be enough in the food budget to buy a turkey. He wasn't even sure if May would be home for Thanksgiving. With Black Friday extended into Thursday evening, she would probably have a shift at the store.

Peter shrugged. "Not really. I think I'll just try to catch up on sleep." He gave a pitiful chuckle. This topic of conversation was just as depressing as the previous one. "Um, do you mind doing another example of trig substitution?"


	6. Chapter 6

As he expected, Aunt May was scheduled to work on Thanksgiving.

"I'm so sorry, hun, but they're paying me time-and-a-half. I couldn't turn it down," she explained.

"Yeah, I get it. It's not a big deal," Peter replied.

"Can you have dinner with Ned's family?" she asked. May felt guilty for leaving her nephew alone on a holiday especially because they didn't have much time together these days.

"He's going to his grandmother's. I wouldn't want to impose on her." In fact, Ned did invite Peter to his grandmother's house, but Peter thought it might be awkward. He lied to his friend, telling Ned that May would be home for dinner.

"Oh, well, then we can have a Thanksgiving lunch tomorrow, okay? I'll pick up something special on my way home from the bar tonight," she promised.

"The budget‒"

"Don't worry about it, Peter. It's a holiday tomorrow: we can treat ourselves just a little bit." She zipped her jacket up. "I've got to go. I'll see you tomorrow. Love you!" she called over her shoulder as she slipped through the door.

After she left, Peter decided to clean the apartment. It hadn't been done in a while, and he knew it would be a nice surprise for Aunt May. He began with the kitchen, washing dishes, scrubbing the stove-top and oven, wiping their barren counter-tops and near-empty refrigerator. He then moved on to the living room, vacuuming the thin carpet, wiping the windows, dusting the bookshelves and useless TV. He sighed. They should sell the TV; they wouldn't be getting cable back any time soon.

Peter was in the middle of straightening the frames on the wall when he heard the front door open. He turned around and saw Aunt May, home much earlier than expected. "May? What happened?" he asked, almost scared of the answer. The only reasons that she would be home this early were if the bar was somehow destroyed or if…

"I was fired," she whispered in a voice imperceptible except to Peter's mutant ears. She leaned back against the door, closing her eyes.

Peter's heart dropped. The world seemed to shift under him as he collapsed onto the couch. With one less job, their income would be down by over thirty percent. They had been just barely scraping by with what they had. Who knew how long it would be before May could find another job? Peter dropped his face into his hands, beginning to shake.

The boy felt an arm rest across his shoulders, pulling him into an embrace. He looked up at May, having moved to sit beside him, but he regretted it as soon as he did. Tears poured continuously down her cheeks, smearing what little makeup she had. Unlike a few weeks ago, she didn't try to hide them. What was the point? They both understood how grave their situation had become. It was her open emotions that crumbled Peter's own emotional walls. Something within him snapped, and he couldn't stop sobbing once he started. Restless nights and the events of the past few weeks finally caught up to him in this one tremendously heartbreaking moment. It seemed like no matter how hard they worked and how thrifty they were, it would never be enough. It was one step forward and two steps back. It was dry cereal and instant Ramen noodles for dinner three nights in a row. It was lost time with friends and slipping grades. It was sprinting a race that didn't have a finish line in sight. It was impossible for a teenager -even an intelligent one with mutant strength‒ to handle.

It was a long time before either of them said anything.

"Peter, I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"Yes, it was. I shouldn't have smacked that bastard's hands away. I should have just‒"

"No! Don't ever sacrifice yourself like that." If he wasn't so tired, Peter would have screamed at the thought of May being sexually harassed by a man. He would have thrown on his suit, ran to the bar, and punched the guy himself.

Again, nothing more was said for a long time. They simply continued to lay in each other's arms. Peter thought May had fallen asleep until she spoke up one last time for the night.

"Oh, Peter, I didn't even stop to get something special for our Thanksgiving lunch!"

"It's okay. I don't have much of an appetite anyway."


	7. Chapter 7

Peter stood in the middle of their apartment, watching two strangers remove their couch. At first it was weird having random people come into their home and take things away, but Peter quickly grew used to it. First the TV and DVD player. Then the television stand and two bookshelves. Some of the books themselves. The small square dinner table and it's accompanying chairs. And today, the couch. Originally May had been sentimental about selling the couch since she had picked it out with Ben when they first moved into the apartment, but the possibility of a couple extra hundred dollars in their pocket was too enticing to resist for very long.

When May lost her job, the pair had sat down over Thanksgiving break to figure out a plan of action. Plan A would have been used if May had found a job within one week, but that didn't happen. Now, over two weeks later, they were following Plan B: while May continued to search for a new job, they would sell non-essential items. It wasn't a big deal; like Peter had previously thought, they didn't use their television anyway.

Unfortunately, things weren't selling fast enough and May was losing hours at the department store to temporary holiday workers, so some other precautions had to be implemented. For one, both smart phones had been sold for two basic flip-phones. Initially, Peter insisted that he didn't need a cell phone at all, but May didn't want him traveling around the city without one. They also cancelled their internet contract, leaving Peter to do his homework by means of the café's free wifi. This also wasn't a big deal to Peter: he barely did his homework in the first place.

Through all the cut-backs, Peter remained calm. Living a minimalistic life never killed anyone, right? He tried to take the depressing situation in stride, thinking of how appreciative he would be when they finally had cable and internet in their house again. It was just another life lesson in gratitude, right? So what if his friends were getting new laptops for Christmas? He didn't need those things to be happy. He didn't need a couch to have a home.

For a while, Peter convinced himself that the situation was normal and that everything was fine. However, a few days after the couch was sold, a new implementation forced Peter to face the reality of the situation.

"Peter? Are you in there?" May called, rapping her knuckles on his bedroom door.

From his bed, Peter looked at the clock. Eleven at night. "Uh, yeah, of course. Come in, what's up?"

Once she walked in, May sat down next to him. "How's homework going?" she asked, trying to make polite conversation before jumping right into her reason for being there.

Peter shrugged. "Oh, um, it's fine," he lied. He never did homework outside of his mornings with Castine. If he didn't finish the homework in the morning, then it didn't get done. His grades had picked up a little from those morning sessions, but they plummeted again after Thanksgiving. Peter thought he might be failing U.S. History, but he couldn't even care enough to check his current grade. Not wanting May to know all this, he asked, "What's going on? Did someone buy the coffee table?"

May gave a half-hearted laugh. "No, we didn't sell the table. But, I did come in to talk about money."

"I figured," Peter commented, grimacing.

"I'm sorry, Peter." She sighed. "It's about saving enough for our December bills."

Peter looked up at Aunt May. This conversation was going to be worse than he thought.

May continued, "I estimated based on last December's bills and last month's bills. We'll have to put all the money from the couch towards rent which leaves the water, electricity, and gas bills."

"And food," Peter added.

"Yes, and food," May agreed. "In fact, we'll need extra food this month because you'll be home from school in a little over a week. You'll need breakfast and lunch here for two weeks. On top of that, we really need to get you new shoes because it's expected to snow this week." She looked at his shredded sneakers on the floor.

Peter nodded as he understood where the conversation was heading. He decided to get to the point. He stated, "So, we need to make some cuts again."

May just nodded.

"Well, I don't really need new shoes‒" he started.

"Yes, you do. The soles aren't even taped on anymore," May interjected. "Peter, I've already done the math. We would be able to manage everything except for the extra food. And if it's between food and‒"

"I don't need to eat‒"

"Peter, listen to me!" May demanded in frustration. She inhaled before saying steadily, "I think we need to stop heating the apartment. We can put an extra hundred towards food if we can get our gas bill down, and heating the place is what's making the bill skyrocket."

Peter was quiet. She was probably right: heating their tiny apartment was costing them. He knew he should say something, but he didn't want to accept a cold apartment with snow approaching. If the temperature dropped as far as was forecasted, everything would be cold. He would put on a cold jacket before going outside, throw on cold sweatpants when he came home, and crawl into a cold bed with cold blankets to sleep. They only difference between inside the house and outside would be the thin walls that held what little belongings they had left. Peter knew he needed food, but was food worth it?

"May," Peter began slowly. "What's the point of keeping my feet warm outside if we can't even keep the apartment warm?" He knew the question sounded harsh, but he didn't care. He was reaching the end of his tolerance for this miserable life.

May answered in a low voice, "You know why."

The teen knew exactly why. It didn't matter what was going on at home as long as no one else suspected that something was very, very wrong. It was the same reason why he hadn't told his calculus teacher very much and why he hadn't talked to Stark for over a month: the less people involved, the better.

"Okay, cut the heat then," Peter conceded. May hugged him and left shortly afterward.

By the next night, all the warmth had left the house. Peter began to wear socks and a hoodie at all times, and he actually preferred to shower at school so that he didn't have to face the post-shower cold when he turned off the warm water. During the night, Peter piled all of the blankets he had onto his bed and even his extra sweatshirts on top in order to stay warm during the night. Ned had insisted that Peter sleep at his house, but Peter felt guilty about abandoning May. So, he sucked it up and slept at the apartment. In the morning, the bitter chill seemed to have sunk into his bones, following him everywhere throughout the day. He wanted to cry, but he was sure that even his tears would freeze against his cheeks.

About a week later, Peter was standing in front of the heater in Mr. Castine's classroom, hands wrapped around his mug of steaming coffee. Although he was directly over a heat source, he continued to shake and his goosebumps failed to disappear. Not for the first time, he wished that he wore his Spider-Man suit underneath his clothes, but the fear of someone noticing it kept the temperature-regulated suit deep in his closet.

"Peter, you haven't stopped shivering since you walked in. Are you sick? Maybe you should go home," Castine suggested, worried about the student whom he had grown so fond of.

"No!" Peter forcefully replied. The thought of leaving the warmth of this heater and going all the way home made him want to die at the center of a hot volcano. At least then he'd die warm.

Castine was confused by Peter's outburst. "Uh, 'no' you aren't sick, or 'no' you don't want to go home?"

In that moment, at the mention of 'home,' something within Peter broke. His normally collected outward appearance cracked. Suddenly, words were spilling out of his mouth before he could stop himself: "Home? What  _home_?! You mean that apartment where I sleep every night? That hasn't been a home in months. That hasn't been a home since Uncle Ben died!" Peter's voice had risen as all the thoughts that he has suppressed over the past couple months were now expressed as screams.

"Everyone is talking about the holidays: the grandmas and cousins and moms and dads and vacations and presents and 'joyful' this and 'grateful' that while I'm working all the time just to have enough  _food_  for winter break!" Peter yelled, his words running together. "We don't even have a couch to sit on, let alone a tree or candles or gifts. I wake up every day trying to just be grateful that I'm alive, and let me tell you, that's getting harder every morning!"

Peter was crying now. "First we had no TV, and that was fine. And then we had no wifi, and I can manage that, too. But no food? No  _heat_?!" With his heightened senses beginning to overwhelm him, Peter squeezed his eyes shut as he continued, "I'm just so cold and so tired and so stressed and so hungry‒"

Just then, Peter's grip on his mug tightened, and it imploded under his mutant strength. The shattered pieces cut his hands, and the coffee left him drenched.

The shattering brought Peter back into focus. In shock over the coffee and his equally-explosive rant, Peter stammered, "Oh my god, I'm- I'm so sorry, I- It just- I didn't mean‒"

"Hey, Peter, it's alright," Castine softly reassured him. He was surprised at how easily the mug broke under the teen's grasp, but now wasn't the time to analyze it. He offered some napkins and began to pick up shards from the floor. Castine himself was in shock. He had a feeling that the kid's situation was bleak, but he didn't think it was this bad. From his kneeling position on the ground, Castine glanced up at Peter. The boy hadn't moved and seemed to be staring into space. "Pete, you with me?"

Peter blinked then turned to his calculus teacher. Just then, a realization hit him. "You're going to tell on me, aren't you?"

Castine stood up. "Tell on you?"

"Yeah. Report me. To the counselors or school or whatever."

Castine sighed. As always, Peter was right. Teachers in New York were mandated reporters: he was required to report any suspicions of child abuse or neglect to his superiors. "Peter, the law is in place to help‒"

"You know what? Just forget it. I need to go," Peter said, ignoring Castine. He picked up his schoolbag and walked out the door.


	8. Chapter 8

Peter intended to go to homeroom, but he was so angry that he instead marched right out of school. He ended up at the public library where he sat in a corner and used the library's cassette player to listen to some classic rock. It reminded him of Tony whom, for the first time in a while, he genuinely missed. Peter wished his mentor would sit next to him and tell him that everything would be alright or even simply distract him from the storm he had accidentally created. Peter wanted nothing more than to go back to the summer where his sole focus was being the friendly neighborhood vigilante.

Eventually, Peter went home. When he got in, May scolded him for leaving school without telling her first. "Hun, it's okay if you're not feeling well, but you have to tell me so I can call you out, remember?"

A few hours later, he picked up his pre-paid phone. He hadn't been able to shake off his morning rant with Castine, and it got Peter thinking that maybe it wouldn't be so bad to seek out some help. Tony was smart: he would know what to do. Peter thought about texting Happy, but then decided to text his mentor directly. If the billionaire could call him directly, then that means they could text directly, too, right?

::  _Hey it's Peter. Got time to catch up sometime? ::_

After a pause, he quickly added to the text,

_:: it's okay if you don't ::_

He was about to send a third text, but he stopped when he heard a knock at the front door. Peter got up to inspect.

Just before he rounded the corner to see the doorway, he stopped to listen as May opened the door.

"Hello?" May greeted the unexpected visitor.

"Hi, are you May Parker?" A woman asked.

"Yes, that's me."

Then a man's voice informed May, "Hello, Mrs. Parker, my name is Brian, this is my partner Sandra, and we are from New York City's Administration of Child Services. We'd like to speak to you and the child in your custody, Peter Parker."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has commented, subscribed, and left a kudos! It means a lot to me. 
> 
> Because of some comments I had received on another website, I just wanted to mention that a lot of this story is based on my own experiences growing up as a poor kid in a different urban area (i.e., not New York). That being said, I'm not super savvy with apartment bills necessarily or with NYC's Child Services specifically, but I tried my best.
> 
> Stay tuned: the comfort part of hurt/comfort is on it's way to the rescue!


	9. Chapter 9

Commercials are pop culture. Maybe it's a bit of a bold statement for people who have cable and are able to watch TV every day, but for people who haven't really watched anything in a few months? For people like Peter, who hadn't seen commercials for the newest movies or shows and didn't recognize some of the jingles that his peers would absentmindedly hum in the library, it was a small reminder that he was disconnected from his peers. His life was not normal.

Sitting on a couch in a stranger's house, surrounded by strange children, and unable to fully process everything that had recently happened to him, Peter did the activity that required the least amount of energy. He watched the nightly news. For the first time in months, his entire attention was on the broadcast.

He regretted it almost immediately.

After a quick, happy story about the foundation of a new pet adoption agency, the current events were all about murder, robbery, sexual harassment scandals, lost children, a school shooting, and "Where is Spider-Man?" over and over.

Spider-Man himself hardly knew where he was at this point.

When the channel was changed to something more child-friendly, Peter mumbled something about being tired. He got up, climbed the house's narrow staircase, and shut himself in the room where he had dropped his bags earlier that day. They called this his bedroom, but it didn't really belong to him. Nothing here belonged to him except his hastily-packed suitcase and schoolbag. He didn't even have the room to himself: although currently empty, he shared it with three other boys whose names and exact ages he had already forgotten.

Without thinking very clearly, Peter dug his suit out of the bottom of his schoolbag where he had stowed it earlier. He rubbed the material between his fingers, stretching it and tracing the logo on the chest. It had been so long. Memories overwhelmed him. Memories of good times, physically-demanding times, and Tony Stark. Peter sniffled, continuing to hold back the tears that had threatened to fall since earlier that day. He couldn't believe how careless he had been in neglecting his duties to the city. His exhaustion was nothing compared to the pain of dying.

With hands shaking from anger and self-hatred, Peter pulled on the suit and mask. As he approached the window, he glanced over his shoulder at the room one more time, and a thought occurred to him.

He could run away.

If he left, then Aunt May would never have to worry about feeding him or clothing him. In fact, if he ran away, why even finish high school? He could spend the rest of his life saving lives. Heroes didn't need diplomas. It was a win-win plan: Aunt May and New York would be better.

Peter rushed back to the bed and dumped his books out of his backpack ‒he wouldn't need those anymore. Then he filled the bag with only the most essential items: a change of clothes, some underwear, his sneakers. He would have grabbed his phone and phone charger, but it had been confiscating. The social workers had said that he would be taken off May's phone plan for financial reasons, so they forced May to keep his phone. Like almost everything else, Peter hated it. Now, he had no way to contact Aunt May or Ned. He wasn't so worried about Stark because the man was probably too busy to respond to Peter's recent texts anyway.

A few minutes later, Peter had scaled the wall to the roof and was running across buildings to get as far away as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're confused, the next chapter or two should fill in the gaps for you.
> 
> Also, I'm sorry to all of you who didn't want Peter taken away. At this point, I've already written up to Chapter 12, but back when I wrote this, it did take me a little while to decide whether Peter should be taken or not.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long chapter (oops)

In Chicago, Tony Stark had just finished up a conference with leaders of environmental non-profit organizations when he checked his phone. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the unopened texts.

::  _Hey it's Peter. Got time to catch up sometime? ::_

_:: it's okay if you don't ::_

Tony responded,

_:: Sure. Tonight? ::_

New York City was approximately twelve hours away by car, but if the kid needed him, he could fly and be there in less than two hours. For now, he would return to his hotel room, change into more casual clothes, and pack his bags. Even if Peter didn't want to talk tonight, his plane was already scheduled for tomorrow.

After an hour, there had been no response. The silence had planted a seed of anxiety in Tony.

After another hour passed, Tony was completely restless. He informed Happy, "Hey, take my bags tomorrow. I'm leaving now." And before his security guard could interrogate him for his reasoning, Tony had walked out. On the sidewalk, having tapped the center of his chest, nanomachines sprung to life and encased his body as they built his Iron Man suit on the spot. Ignoring the gawking stares from passerby, he pushed himself into the air and started on his way to Queens.

* * *

Honestly, Tony didn't have an exact plan in mind, but his emotions landed him on Peter's street. It was evening now. His armor receded as he walked to the apartment building. Opening the never-locked main door, he remembered the last time he had walked into Peter's home unannounced when he had met the kid for the first time.

The mutant teen was strong and had unimaginable reaction times, but Tony had already known that from the videos of Spider-Man. What the videos didn't show was the kid's extreme brilliance. His intelligence rivaled Tony's own, but Peter put it towards chemistry and biology, towards building computers from trash and Lego models with his nerdy friends. Whether is was the true meaning of "sacrifice" or seeing the value in every individual's life, things that took a kidnapping and years of repairing past mistakes for Tony to learn, this kid seemed to have been born knowing it. However, after seeing all these things in his mentee, it was Peter's humility that was most inspiring to the billionaire.

Tony reached Peter's apartment door. He gave it a quick succession of light knocks then waited.

"Hel‒," May began when she opened the door, but stopped short when she recognized Tony's face. She couldn't understand why he would be here. And of all days, this was the worst possible timing. Her nose was too stuffy to breathe right, and she hadn't even washed off the tears dried on her face. "Tony Stark?"

The redness in May's eyes took Tony by surprise. It was obvious that she had been crying, but he didn't want to embarrass her so he didn't ask. He greeted her, "Hi, Mrs. Parker. Sorry to drop by rather unexpectedly, but I was hoping Peter might be here."

May stared at him. He wanted to see Peter? She was sure Peter had resigned from his internship at Stark Industries a couple months ago. The thought of his resignation brought a fresh wave of guilt over her. That was back when things really started to fall apart…

"Are you alright? Where's Peter?" Tony asked, full of concern. As soon as he had mentioned the kid, tears had welled up in her eyes and she stared as if she was looking through him at something on the wall behind him.

At the second mention of Peter, May could no longer remain composed. Tears began pouring down her face once again, and she brought her hands to her face, shaking uncontrollably. In the open doorway of that empty apartment, she sobbed.

Tony was completely unprepared for this. He was terrified by her reaction, and she still hadn't told him where Peter was. With no other idea in mind, he reached his hand out and gently squeezed the side of her shoulder. He spoke softly, "Hey, hey, hey, it's alright. It's okay. Maybe I should just go?"

"No, please…" May couldn't stop crying. She was breaking down in front of a near-stranger. Nevertheless, she didn't want to be alone. "…please stay."

Wondering if he would regret his decision but too concerned to abandon her, Tony agreed. "Okay, I can stay for a few minutes."

May stepped aside so that the visitor could enter the small apartment. When he fully walked in and May shut the door behind them, Tony could hardly recognize his surroundings. Last time, they had sat on a comfortable couch, watched the television, and shared home-baked treats while they waited for Peter to come home. Now, there wasn't even a couch, let alone a TV. Furthermore, certainly nothing was baking since the entire apartment was freezing. Tony turned back to look at his hostess once again. How had he not noticed that she was wearing a jacket over a pair of thick sweatpants and shoes although it didn't seem like she had left the apartment in hours? In fact, there was a good chance that it wasn't the tears that was making her shiver, but the cold.

"Is your heater broken? 'Cause, you know, I could fix that," Tony offered.

May shook her head as she took a seat on a stool at the kitchen island. It didn't matter who knew now anyway, right? After taking a minute to catch her breath, she confessed, "We won't be able to afford that bill."

"And the furniture?"

"Sold it for food."

Tony's own hands began to tremble as his heart rate picked up. Shit. How long had these two been selling furniture for food? How long had they been forcing themselves to live without heat while it snowed outside? What other things have they been forced to do in order to save every possible dollar? How long had he, the founder of a multi-billion-dollar company, been sitting on a mass of wealth while these people starved because Peter was too humble to ask for help and Tony was too careless to notice? He should have probed the kid for answers when he had the chance. He should have checked up on him again instead of trusting that the kid would approach him for help. He should have done better. He should have been there. Shit. Shitshitshitsh‒

"You don't have to stand; there's an extra seat here," May notified him, interrupting his self-condemnation.

Needing to steady himself and having few other options, Tony sat across from Peter's aunt. She had stopped sobbing, but she continued to sniffle, wiping her eyes with her jacket sleeve. "You're cold," Tony observed.

May shrugged. "I'm used to it."

"That's no reason to stay cold." Tony stood and unzipped his own hoodie. "Here, use mine."

May shook her head. "No, no, I'm fine, really." Then she mumbled, "Mine is thicker anyway."

"Please," Tony insisted. "It's warmer, I promise."

The shivering woman sighed in defeat. She didn't have the energy to protest. Slipping off her coat, she pulled the thinner hoodie on. It was too large, of course, but he was right: it was warmer. In fact, it seemed to be heating itself up.

Responding to the confused look on her face, Tony said, "Yeah, it has an internal network of fibers for temperature regulation. It's an 'all weather' kind of thing. You know what, you can just keep it. I have another one…" He trailed off at the end and looked away, embarrassed by his own resources. Too anxious to sit back down, he remained standing at the end of the counter. Now that she seemed warmer and calmer, he ventured to ask once again, "Where's Peter?"

"He's not here." She looked down at her hands.

"Yes, where can I find him?" Tony questioned calmly.

"Why do you care? What do you want with him?" May felt defensive: she couldn't provide for him financially, but she could still protect her beloved nephew's privacy.

Tony wasn't sure if he should lie or not. In the end, he went with "He left a message, looking for me."

After a long stretch of silence, May decided to accept his word. She said, "I don't know where he is. And I don't know when he's coming back."

"He just left?" That didn't sound like the Peter he knew. He wouldn't have left his aunt like this.

"No, they  _took_  him from me," May clarified, her voice rising. Her eyes watered again at the memories.

"He was kidnapped?!" Tony practically yelled, unable to keep the sudden hysteria out of his voice.

"What? No!" May's head shot up to look Tony in the eyes. "Why would anyone want to kidnap a fifteen-year-old kid like Peter?"

Of course, no one would have any reason to kidnap a kid like Peter. Apparently, May still didn't know that there were plenty of people who might want to kidnap a kid like Spider-Man, however. Tony took a deep breath to calm himself down before speaking in a low voice. "May. Please. What the hell happened here?"

May looked away again. She whispered, "It was child protective services. I think someone from Peter's school reported something because Peter came home from school early today. He seemed upset, but he didn't want to talk about it. A couple hours later, social workers showed up and demanded to speak with me and Peter." Her tears flowed freely now as her voice grew shakier. "They-they came in with notepads, looking through our cabinets for food and accused me of-of child endangerment!" A choked sob broke her explanation. She hunched over into her hands and her entire body shook with raw emotion, namely, the shame of being unable to provide for her nephew. Inhaling deeply, she regained enough composure to say, "Apparently our situation was so bad that they couldn't let Peter stay here another night. They had him pack his bags and took him away."

When May looked up at her listener, he was looking down at the ground, hands clenched into fists at his sides. These people just took the kid with, what? An hour's worth of 'investigation'? With no warning? And with no further notice of where the kid was now?

"Where," Tony began, taking a pause to press down his anger. "Where did they take him?"

"They never told me. He's in a foster-care home somewhere in the city, I think. They said that they'll contact me again soon to see if my financial situation has improved enough for Peter to come home."

"You need a job?"

"I have a job. I've been looking for a second job for a couple weeks now."

"You need a better job," Tony corrected his previous statement.

May scoffed and muttered, "Yeah, sure, I'll find my salary-paid job with full benefits as soon as I win the lottery."

"I can help you find a job, no problem. Peter will be back here in no time," Tony said, waving his hand as if to dismiss the problem entirely. He may have been speaking to reassure himself more than May at this point. The kid would be back in no time at all. Soon his spider-kid would be safe again. And all he had to do was pay their apartment bills, stock the place with food, and find a job for May. No problem.

May just stared at him. Why would Tony Stark help an ex-intern's family? Why would the founder of a major company waste his time like this? Wasn't he busy saving the world or something? May questioned his intent hesitantly, "What do you want from us?"

Tony shook his head. He just wanted Peter to be safe and happy again. He still had images of the last time he saw Peter stuck in his head: overgrown hair, dirty clothes, a ripped school bag and shredded shoes. It was his responsibility to take care of this kid when he got hurt. And as Tony knew so well, mental and emotional pain could be a hell of a lot more debilitating than physical pain. However, he couldn't explain all this to May since that would require an explanation about why he was responsible for Peter's physical well-being. Instead, Tony gave a partial truth: "He's a smart kid. I need him back in the lab."

Just then, Tony's phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out to check that it wasn't something from Pepper or Happy. Fortunately, it was even better.

After Peter had last visited Tony's lab, the mentor noticed that Spider-Man wasn't very active in Queens. To keep an eye out for him, Tony told FRIDAY to alert him when the program in Peter's suit ‒"Karen" according to the kid‒ was activated which would mean that Peter had put on his suit. If after three months, Peter hadn't activated Karen, Tony had planned to call the kid to the compound to use the whole "neglecting his duties" bit as a reason to confront him again. Now, the notification system had successfully done its job. Peter was out, and Tony could track his suit to find him.

"Uh, listen, I've gotta run," Tony excused himself, walking towards the door. Before he left, he turned around to pledge, "We'll get Peter back. I promise."

"Wait‒" May started, but he was already gone.

Alone again, she pulled the borrowed hoodie tighter and placed her head down on the counter. For tonight, she would allow herself to believe Stark. They say that money can't buy happiness, but it can bring financial stability and that's damn near close enough. And if there was one thing Tony Stark had, it was money.


	11. Chapter 11

Maybe it was the physical exercise that he hadn't done in a while, or maybe it was the relief from knowing that the area was a little safer tonight, but after running around in the slushy gray snow that was piled up on sidewalks and punching the consciousness out of a few guys much bigger than himself, Peter was feeling slightly better. To top it off, having been wrapped in his high-tech suit, he was feeling warmer than he had felt under his blankets at home. Yeah, he could do this forever.

Not hearing any immediate scuffles, he climbed to a nearby rooftop and laid down. The thrill from the last encounter was wearing off, and he began to feel his exhaustion creep back. Eventually, he allowed his eyes to slide shut ‒here was as good a place as any for a runaway's quick nap.

Not a minute after he closed his eyes, Peter's ears twitched from the sound of a distant humming noise. He sat up and inspected the skies. At first, he couldn't see anything, but it didn't take long for his eyes to focus on an unusual star in the distance.

No, not a star.  _Stark_.

Held still by shock, Iron Man himself was hitting the rooftop before Peter could get himself to stand. When the metal armor smoothly receded, the boy continued to stare at his mentor with his mouth gaping, not believing that the man had actually responded.

"Got your text," Tony said, skipping proper greetings and holding up his own phone. "Bit of an odd meeting place, but, you know, whatever gets the words flowing." Tony shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets as he strode over to where Peter sat.

Peter didn't speak until Stark was practically standing right over him. He pulled off his mask and managed to stutter, "Mis-Mister Stark."

Tony looked down at the spider-kid. His hair was a mess, and he still had bags under his eyes which seemed to pull his entire face down into a look of hopelessness. When the teen said nothing else, Tony thought that he probably looked a little intimidating. He took a breath as he bent down, pausing at a squat before deciding to fully sit right next to the kid on the dirty and very cold rooftop. At least the kid picked a spot that wasn't totally covered in snow.

Now sitting next to Peter, Tony nudged him with his elbow. "How's it going, kid?"

"Fine," Peter responded too quickly then looked away. Like last time, the response was purely a reflex. He told everyone that everything was fine.

"Pete," Tony said flatly, calling out the teen on his obvious lie.

Peter couldn't find his words. He wanted to tell everything to Tony. Ever since he had sat in the library ‒what feels like a lifetime ago‒ Peter had imagined what the conversation would be like when he finally told the truth. He wanted to hear Tony say that everything would okay, that he could fix everything more easily than he could fix the engine in an old car. But now, with the man sitting right next to him, he was suddenly filled with shame and couldn't open his mouth.

Hoping to spark the conversation, Tony revealed, "I talked to Aunt May. She's worried about you." Then, after a pause of silence, he added, "I am, too, kid."

When Peter turned back, Stark was already looking at him. As soon as their eyes met, Peter pulled his face away again, his eyes brimming with tears. He brought his knees to his chest and buried his head under his arms. Before long, his shuddered breathing evolved into hard sobs.

Tony sighed. "Come here," he commanded gently, wrapping his arms around the shaking boy and pulling him close. Like Pepper always did to calm his own nerves, Tony rubbed Peter's back and whispered "It's alright. I've got you. You're safe. It's okay" over and over and over again until Peter's crying could lessen enough for him to form coherent sentences. Tony would have been fighting off frostbite if it weren't for the adrenaline running through his veins, picking his heart rate up and keeping him vigilant while the child cried.

Eventually, Peter quieted but remained in Starks' arms, relishing in the feeling of safety that they brought. Tony was committed to sitting for as long as Peter needed. However, after some time in silence, a thought hit Tony. "Pete, where are you supposed to be? Is someone looking for you?" He didn't want the situation to get any worse for the Parkers; the last thing they needed was for Peter to get in trouble at the foster home.

Between the occasional hiccup, Peter mumbled, "I don't care who's looking for me. I'm running away." As if to prove it, he pulled his backpack closer to him. It had miraculously survived the tumbles and scrapes from the night's street fights despite being stapled together.

The teenager sounded much younger than his true age, talking about running away and ignoring concerns or consequences. The older man sighed. He remembered feeling a similar way back when he was Peter's age. There was a certain peace that came with committing to a solitary life and leaving parents behind. In all fairness, sometimes running away from home was truly the best option. But not for this kid. Not now. Running away was a terrible idea. "Kid, I know it's bad, but you've gotta go back to the house."

"No," Peter spoke firmly, sitting upright. "I won't go back. I don't belong there‒"

"You don't belong on a roof in the middle of the night either," Tony interjected firmly.

"But I can help people here!" Peter's voice was starting to rise. Why didn't Mr. Stark understand?

"Listen, Pete," Tony ordered. "If you go back to that group home,  _I_  can help you  _and_  May. We can't work the system if you're not in it." It was clear that the kid still wasn't going to budge with his eyes averted from his mentor. Tony sighed. "Trust me, kid. When you go back to your own apartment, you'll be able to patrol every night again."

Pulling his knees even closer and dropped his face to the ground, Peter whispered, "You don't understand how bad it is. I'll never be able to go home."

Tony's chest ached at the memory of their empty and cold apartment. He said, "Pete‒"

"It was so cold," Peter continued, ignoring Stark or maybe too far into his memories to hear him. "I always wore sweatpants and hoodies to bed, and I was still cold. And we didn't even really have hot food to warm me up. One time, I ate half a can of soup for lunch and the other half for dinner, and I still felt like I was eating too much." Tears rolled down his cheeks. "I wanted to run away and drop out of school because I'm on the verge of failing if I'm not already, but the truth is that I always dreamed of going to Harvard for biochemistry or of being like you and going to MIT, maybe for bioengineering. I want to sleep and have jeans with no holes in them, and I want to rejoin the decathlon team and not worry about where to get food for the day. I want to feel safe again…" He trailed off.

Tony quickly wiped his sleeve across his eyes before Peter could catch him. He wanted to give the kid space to talk about it, but he couldn't stop the sympathy from driving him to tears. All his spider-kid wanted was to be a kid again. When in this horrible world did that become too much to ask for?

"Peter," Tony began. He took a breath to clear the shakiness from his voice. "I need you to trust me on this one: you're going to be okay. I don't care what I have to do. I will make sure that you get out of that group home, and you'll never run out of food again. Hey, look at me," Tony ordered, reaching over to grip the kid by the shoulders and forcing eye contact. "I promise."

Tony stood and held a hand out for the kid who accepted the assistance and rose from the ground. However, when Stark was about to let go, Peter stepped forward, wrapping his arms around the older man. Tony recovered from his surprise quickly and pulled the kid closer.

For a few minutes, Peter cried into his shoulder, but eventually he pulled away. "Okay" was all he said.

"So, you'll go back to the house?"

"Yeah." Peter nodded. He inhaled deeply to calm himself. "I'll go back. As long as you won't leave me there?"

"I won't," Tony promised once again. He was going to do whatever it took to make Peter feel happy and safe again.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the most intense thing I've written, and it takes a dark turn at the end. (You didn't think I'd write two fluffy chapters in a row, did you?) Therefore,
> 
> >>>there is a trigger warning for sexual assault in this chapter<<<
> 
> It's not graphic (I don't think) and characters remain fully clothed, but if you don't feel comfortable reading it, you can skip to my note at the end of the chapter where I've included a chapter summary. I've also marked the sections with asterisks (*) if you want to read around it.
> 
> This will be the only time I will do this. I'm so sorry.

Now on winter break and having been forced to quit his job at the café, Peter decided to try and catch up on school material. His teachers had generously decided not to assign homework over break, but a few had scheduled mid-year exams in January. Initially, Peter had complained like the rest of his classmates, but his opinions changed when he realized that they would be a good opportunity to bring up his grades. Therefore, instead of watching cartoons that night, the boy was curled up on the bottom of one of the many bunk-beds with his face pressed into a textbook.

Peter was just getting to the end of the section about women's suffrage when his book was roughly smacked out of his hands and onto the floor. "Wha‒!"

"I said 'Hey, newbie!' like ten times," justified a boy in front of Peter. He looked to be a year or two older than Peter and was surrounded by a few other teens. Like himself, the group generally sported overgrown hair if it hadn't been hacked at by one's own scissors, and their clothes were ill-fitted hand-me-downs with stray threads and occasional holes. However, unlike Peter, the teens seemed to reek of smoke and something else that Peter couldn't immediately identify.

"What do you want?" Peter asked with an edge in his voice, ignoring his recently-dubbed nickname. He had been called worse things, and he was used to getting targeted from school.

"You been here for, like, a week now, so I guess you ain't leaving any time soon, yeah?"

Peter looked down at his book on the floor. It had been about a week since he was ripped from his apartment, a week since he tried to run away, and a week since Tony promised that he wouldn't be here for very long.

"Listen, I'mma be real with you for a sec," the guy said in a low voice. He and the rest of the group proceeded to sit on Peter's bed, surrounding him as if they had been long-time best friends. "Me 'n' Dan over there saw you come in through the window the other night without making a sound. That's a real nice skill you got. We wanna help you…" He trailed off, moving his hand in a circular motion as he tried to choose effective wording.

"You're in a shit hole where no one gives a crap about you or where you go in the middle of the night," the girl to Peter's left filled in. "We want to show you how to put your talent for creeping around to better use." The others chuckled and flashed wicked grins to one another.

Peter was confused, but he didn't want to get involved with this crowd. He was also grateful that Tony made him change out of his Spider-Man suit before climbing back into the house that night. Instead of giving a direct rejection which might lead to trouble, he tried to play it off. "I don't really sneak around like that. I just got lucky that time, I guess."

Then, an older boy who hadn't sat down on the bed lunged at Peter and grabbed him by his throat, pinning him to the wall. At the same time, the attacker pointed the tip of a knife against the left side of his chest. Up close to his face, Peter could see the redness in his eyes. "I don't ask nicely like these idiots. How 'bout you do what we tell you to do or we make it look like you offed yourself by sitting on this big ol' knife?"

It had taken a lot of self-control for Peter to stop himself from immediately punching the guy in the face in self-defense. His options seemed to be either do what they wanted, get murdered in his sleep, or almost get murdered and out himself as Spider-Man. "Fine," he finally relented. They were a couple of teens. A few big and scary ones, but practically children nonetheless. How bad could the task be?

"A'ight. Let's head out." They all climbed off the bed with two people dragging Peter by the arms.

* * *

It was turning out to be a long night. It wasn't hard to sneak out of the house: in fact, they walked out the front door. As soon as they were outside, a couple of them flicked their lighters, perpetuating their skunky smell. One even offered a puff to Peter which he, of course, declined. He wasn't sure how his body would react to the drug, but he wasn't about to experiment right then. He needed to be alert anyway.

Peter's discomfort grew when they descended into the subway to speed across the city, hopping the turnstiles at both ends. Honestly, Peter had never skipped the fare before. He was a little surprised at how easily the group got away with it, but he supposed it was about midnight anyway.

When they surfaced once again in an area that he didn't recognize, Peter finally asked, "Where are we going?"

One of the guys ‒Peter thought his name was Gus‒ explained, "A few days ago, Pip found out that his dad was screwing his little sister. The girl's gone, but we're out for some payback."

A girl, Bre, swayed over to Peter and laid her arm across his shoulders. "That's your job, bud. Get into the apartment, get the crack and booze, and get outta there. The bastard's a local dealer, just a middle man to the larger boss, but stealing his goods will get him in deep shit. Pip's dad'll get killed for losing the stuff, and we get off clean."

Steal alcohol and illegal drugs from a drug-dealing rapist. Know that the man was as good as dead and that it was essentially all their doing. Ultimately, that was Peter's job. He could almost reconcile it by knowing that the guy was a child rapist, but it was still a lot to digest. The entire situation made him feel nauseous, but so did the idea of having to sleep next to a bunch of kids who had no problem getting high and murdering their peers. Even if he thought of an acceptable excuse for backing out, it was too late. They had ducked into an alleyway across from the apartment.

"Okay, noob, that's the place," Pip said, pointing across the street. "It's the third floor. See that lit window? It's the dark window on the right of that. My dad keeps his best stuff under the floorboards of his closet, got it?"

"Here's a backpack for the treasure." A boy giggled strangely as he tossed the empty bag to Peter.

"Be fast. If you're not out in ten minutes, we'll assume he got you." And with that last piece of grim advice, Peter was pushed out of the alleyway towards the building.

If Peter had hated himself for his failing grades and eating too much before, his self-hatred increased two-hundred-fold when he scaled the fire escape and peaked through the frosty window. He wished for the protection of his suit (what if the guy had a gun?!), but he was also glad that he was going without it. Spider-Man wouldn't do this. An Avenger wouldn't sneak into some dude's house and steal drugs for a couple of teenagers. A hero wouldn't be so desperate to survive in a group home that he was pressured to partake in criminal activity. A hero like Iron Man or Captain America would have found a way around the murder threats, compromising instead of selling out their talents. Then again, if he did this, maybe the guys will lay off him and get the younger thugs to stop peeing in his already-trashy sneakers and stealing the food off of his plate. Survival of the fittest, right?

He took a deep breath and carefully pressed his hands against the window. Luckily, the window was unlocked and it opened with the little force. Carefully, he crawled inside and landed softly on the floor. It was a simple one-room apartment with a kitchen area, dining room table, and doors to the bedroom and bathroom. His hypersensitive hearing informed him that no one was home. He let out a sigh of relief. Now, he just had to work quickly.

Stepping through the open door of the bedroom and locating the closet, he bent down to move the floorboards. He had to brush off a few roaches and scare away a mouse, but Pip had been right. Peter swiftly transferred the plastic bags to his backpack and ran out of the room. Almost to the window, he remembered the alcohol and turned back to grab a few bottles of liquor.

Within seven and half minutes, Peter was back in the alleyway with the other orphaned teens, passing along the "treasures". Nothing was said until they were safely in the subway once again.

"You did good, noob."

"Faster than Jackie used to be!"

The guy who held him at knife-point earlier gave him a hard pat on the back. "I think you'll fit in just fine here." He gave Peter a wink and smiled as he took a swig straight out of a bottle of vodka.

Everyone was laughing and cheering, and Pip was cursing out his family, but Peter wasn't sharing their enthusiasm. If this is what he had to do to survive, then life didn't seem worth it. He was overwhelmed and emotionally drained. That was why, when the older boy passed the bottle of alcohol to Peter, he didn't think twice before allowing the burning liquid to pass down his throat. No, he had never been drunk before, but he had also never stolen anything or lived in foster care before. By the time they ascended to the surface, the bottle was empty and he felt giddy, looking at the world which seemed shinier than usual. When they arrived at the house, his legs felt like jelly and time seemed to be passing too slowly and too quickly at the same time. Inside, the others continued to jeer and, having retreated somewhere where the staff wouldn't find them easily, they dug into the backpack for "the real good stuff". It was then that Peter backed off, stumbled to his bed ‒or maybe it wasn't his bed but it was close enough‒ and quickly fell asleep without bothering to change into something more comfortable.

* * *

*****A couple of hours later, Peter woke up abruptly, feeling nauseous but thirsty. It was three in the morning. Needing water, he stumbled his way downstairs for the kitchen with his eyes half shut and, not quite making it to his destination, flopped onto the couch in the living room to close his eyes again.

"Peter? Are you sick?"

Peter forced himself to lift his eyelids enough to see who was speaking to him. He recognized the older man as one of the staff members in charge of the many kids here, but in his groggy state of mind, Peter couldn't remember the man's name. Maybe it was Gary or Gregory or maybe it didn't start with a 'G' at all‒

"Peter?" The man said again, breaking the boy out of his thoughts. The man sat down by Peter's hips since the teen was currently occupying the entire couch with his head on the armrest.

"Uh-huh" was all that Peter could manage through his blooming headache. He really needed some water. What did this guy want with him anyway? Was it against the rules to sleep on the couch?

"Are you under the influence?"

"The flu? Nah, I'm no' sick," Peter reassured the man, his words slurring a bit. Was the man leaning closer to him? His normally sharp eyesight was lacking at the moment.

"Peter, is there someone trying to get you out of foster care?"

"I'm tryna get me outta fosta care," Peter mumbled, closing his eyes to try and lessen his headache. Why was the guy asking such intense questions? Why did he care who was looking for Peter? When he opened his eyes again, the man had moved even closer to him. Although he was tired and not thinking clearly, the proximity of the man made Peter uncomfortable. The man was practically on top of him. When he placed a hand on Peter's chest, the teen finally asked, "Wha're you doin'?"

"I'm just checking to see that you're still awake."

Peter felt the man's hand travel down his chest and over his stomach. He wanted the unwelcomed hand to stop. He willed his hands to move and push the man away, but his arms felt too heavy. As Spider-Man, he had stared down the barrels of guns and willingly jumped in front of crashing trucks, but never before had he felt so paralyzed with terror. He squeezed his eyes shut once again. All he could muster was a whispered "No."

"Peter, no one is coming for you, but don't worry."

The button of his jeans was undone. Peter's breathing rate soared.

"We'll take good care of you."

The zipper on his jeans was slowly tugged downward.  _Damn it, Peter, move!_

Just as the man was about to lay down his hand, Peter screamed. He forced himself to snap upright, throwing all his weight into the shoulder of his harasser. Forgetting his own strength and thinking only of how violated he felt, he fell onto the man and threw his fist down, breaking the man's nose easily. However, the splattering of blood was the final straw for Peter's nausea. He turned to the side as his meager dinner ‒what felt like ages ago‒ rushed out onto the floor.

It seemed that emptying his stomach had given his body some room for clarity to settle in.

Peter stood up, zipped his jeans, and after pausing a moment for his legs to stop shaking enough for him to walk, he headed for the front door.

"Hey, kid, where the hell do you think you're going?" The man called out in a nasally yet demanding voice.

"I told you," Peter said steadily, "I'm getting myself out."

*****With that, Peter walked out the door and into the pre-sunrise winter chill. At the first 24-hour convenience store, he dug his wallet out of his pocket, grateful for the first time that he hadn't changed out of his clothes before he had passed out. He pulled out a slip of paper with a single phone number and borrowed a phone. "Come get me."

"Stay on the phone and stay where you are. I'm on my way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Summary:   
> Late at night, Peter is pressured to steal drugs for a group of teens in the foster home. Overcome by guilt and self-loathing, Peter gets drunk and passes out when he and the others return to the house. A couple hours later, he wakes up, feeling sick and craving water. Unable to walk all the way to the kitchen, Peter lays down on the living room couch where he is then physically harassed by a staff member at the group home. Punching the man, Peter walks out of the house and borrows a phone to call for help.
> 
> Question for readers:   
> I wrote this chapter because I wanted to get Peter out of the foster home much more quickly. So, what are your thoughts about Peter possibly not ending up back at Aunt May's? If he ends up somewhere else, I might start a sequel…
> 
> One last thing:  
> At this point, updates will be much slower because this website is now officially caught up to the other website on which   
> I was posting this story. Usually I update about once per week and usually towards the end of the week or the weekend.


	13. Chapter 13

After dinner, Tony sat on the smaller portion of his sectional, sipping a simple rum and Coke. To his left, Pepper’s and May’s laughter, spurned on by about two bottles of wine, was bringing tears to their eyes. Tony had lost the conversation a few minutes ago, but he was sure that they were laughing at nothing in particular.

May leaned back into the couch. She sighed, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. “Man, I don’t think I’ve laughed this hard in months!”

There was a moment of silence before Pepper and May exchanged another look, and then their laughter continued for no reason at all.

Tony was grateful that May had clicked so well with Pepper. After trying his best to persuade her to take a night off, it was Pepper who finally convinced May to join them for dinner. Tony knew that she wanted to meet May anyway, but over dinner they learned more about Peter’s aunt and began brainstorming more suitable employment options by means of their various connections. When they had agreed on a course of action for May’s resume and applications, Tony called the waiter for a smooth red wine and the three loosened up quite quickly.

Now they were at his penthouse in the city, trying to forget about the problems that called for their attention. There wasn’t much that they could do at this time of night anyway.

Tony looked over at the two women.

“‒anything you ask!” Pepper was explaining.

“Just say it out loud?” May asked between giggles. Pepper just nodded enthusiastically. May looked up at the ceiling and spoke hesitantly, “FRIDAY? Play Tony’s Spotify music?”

May looked over at Pepper doubtfully before the program responded, “Of course, Mrs. Parker.” When Billy Joel’s “Only the Good Die Young” began playing, May screamed, “I love this song!” and burst into another fit of laughter as Pepper dragged her off of the couch and the two began dancing in the middle of the living room.

Tony was about to retreat to the kitchen when Pepper tapped him on the shoulder, saying, “You, too, Iron Man!” It was then that he laughed, too, and he rose to spin Pepper around on their makeshift, three-person dance floor.

 

* * *

 

A few hours later, the trio resided on the couch once again with May curled up and asleep on the smaller portion. Pepper, who was laying on Tony with her head resting comfortably against his shoulder, absentmindedly traced circles on his chest. Some late-night sit-com was playing on the TV at a volume low enough that the sounds of the city were able to slip through the walls and fill the apartment. It was the peaceful time of night that existed only when most of the world lay sleeping.

Tony broke the intimate silence, whispering, “I think that was the happiest I’ve ever seen her.”

“She works so hard for him, for Peter. She deserves a night off,” Pepper whispered back. Then, noticing how his heart rate picked up, she stopped her hand movements to reach over and hold his right hand. She reassured him, “Everything’ll be back to normal soon. Tomorrow I’m going to make some calls and see if anyone has an opening for a secretary or something. Then we just need to get child services back for an inspection. He’ll be back home before you know it.”

Tony sighed. “I still can’t believe things got so bad.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Just as Tony was about to continue berating himself, his phone rang, startling the two and stirring May.

“FRIDAY, who’s calling?” Stark asked, nudging Pepper so that he could sit up. He scanned the room for his misplaced phone.

“An unknown number, sir, but with a New York City area code,” The voice responded.

May, finding it in the cushion of her seat, wordlessly held out the ringing device to Tony.

“Thanks,” he mumbled. Swiping to accept the caller, he asked, “Hello?”

“Come get me” was all that was said, but Tony recognized the voice immediately. The boy’s voice was steady, and he also sounded like he was out of breath. Tony didn’t waste a second in ordering, “Stay on the phone and stay where you are. I’m on my way.” Although it was sometime around three in the morning, the kid needed him so he would be there.

As he jumped off the couch to slip on a pair of shoes and a jacket, Pepper called out, “Hey, wait, who is it? Where are you going?”

Temporarily pressing the phone into his shoulder, he answered bluntly, “Peter. I’ll be back.” Then he addressed his computer, commanding, “Track the phone and send the address to the car. I’m driving.”

“Peter?! What’s wrong with him?! What’s going on?” May began to panic. When Tony ignored her and continued out the door, Pepper moved over to soothe her.

“It’s alright: Tony’ll take care of it.”

 

* * *

 

Pulling his car out of the garage, Tony continued to speak to Peter. So far, the kid had whispered that he was in some convenience store on a corner a few blocks from the group home. He had rushed to promise Tony that he wasn’t running away, but he needed to get away. Tony asked “What happened, kid?” once again as he followed the quickest route planned by FRIDAY. When the teen refused to answer a second time, they instead talked about what Peter had recently been reading, and Peter described the plot of the cheesy holiday movie he had recently seen on TV. By the time Tony stopped outside of the corner store, it sounded like Peter had regained some strength.

Now that Peter was in his passenger seat, Tony turned to him to ask, “No backpack this time? You need anything from the group home?”

“No. I just want to get out of this neighborhood,” Peter responded, looking down at his empty hands in his lap.

Tony followed Peter’s stare and noticed his right hand covered in blood. The teen also reeked of vomit and marijuana. The driver sighed and gave a small shake of his head before heading back to the penthouse. “Pepper and your Aunt May are at my apartment,” he warned.

“Ohmygod,” Peter’s head snapped up to look at his mentor. He shrieked, “She can’t see me like this!”

“Oh, what, it’s fine for me to suffer through your puke-stench but not her?” Tony teased, trying to calm the kid down from hysteria. When Peter’s attitude didn’t seem to change, Tony tried a different approach. “It’s fine. You don’t owe anyone an explanation. Shit happens, kid, and sometimes we get stuck in the middle of it even if it’s not our fault.” Tony’s eyebrows furrowed as he silently reprimanded himself for cursing during his attempt at parental-like advice.

“She’s going to ask,” Peter muttered as he turned back to his hands, picking dried blood out from under his fingernails. “She’s going to worry.”

Suppressing his immediate reaction which involved a reminder that his Aunt May wasn’t the only worried person in the situation, Tony instead reassured his passenger. “Tell her that you don’t want to talk about it. It’s okay not to talk about things if you’re not ready to.” The corner of his mouth picked up into a slight smile as Tony approved of his own word-choice this time. He could handle this mentoring thing, right? Right.

“Yeah, okay,” Peter said in a defeated but accepting tone of voice.

 

* * *

 

Back in his apartment, Tony helped to shield Peter from the concerned women who had moved to the kitchen area for water.

“He’s fine! Let him sleep; he’s had a long night!” Tony spoke up for Peter, letting the child cower behind him. He then guided Peter to one of the rooms down the hallway.

“I’ve never been here,” Peter commented. When he visited Stark, it was usually at the Compound upstate where the engineer’s workshop was. He had spent the night at the Compound before and he had stayed in the same hotel as Stark, but this felt more personal.

Tony shrugged. “Pepper is here more than me. Lots of business stuff to do around here.” He walked to a set of drawers and pulled out sweatpants and a t-shirt. “Here,” he said, handing the clothes to Peter. Pointing to the lower drawer, he explained, “There’s clean underwear in this drawer. I wasn’t sure what you prefer so there’s some to choose from.” Then, walking into the connected bathroom and flipping on the light, he said, “Here’s the shower. Clean towels are there. Soap and shampoo.”

Peter walked into the bathroom and set the clothing on a shelf. He turned to take in his surroundings ‒the bathroom was far nicer than the one at the group home or even May’s‒ and almost burst into tears when he saw his reflection in the sparkling mirror. What stopped him was the toothbrush in the rack on the counter: a Spider-Man-themed toothbrush. It was then that he reconsidered Stark’s statement about the underwear drawer and the fact that the clothes were his size despite Tony being bigger than him. “Is-is this… mine?”

Slightly embarrassed to admit that he had stocked the room for Peter months ago in case of an emergency to counter a rising anxiety attack, Tony just nodded.

For the second time that month, Peter stepped forward to wrap his arms around his mentor. As before, tears escaped down his cheeks, but contrary to last time, these tears wear driven by happiness. Peter hadn’t felt so safe in weeks.

After Tony returned the hug for a minute or two, he stepped away. “I’m always here for you, kid, but you really gotta shower.” He chuckled, causing Peter to laugh as well.

Before he walked out, Tony reminded his Spider-kid, “Get some sleep, will ya? We’ll figure things out in the morning.”

“Will do, Mister Stark,” Peter promised

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has commented about where they want to see this fic going in future chapters. 
> 
> I've now decided what will happen to Peter, but I wanted to add the following little tidbit.
> 
> I just want to reiterate that Peter's experiences are largely based off of my own. Not to be like super serious or personal, but my own mother was very much like May is here: she cares and she's doing her best but sometimes it's not enough. I'm not trying to write May as the "villain" here. In reality, she would need as much therapy as Peter does. It's hard to see your child get taken away. It's really hard to have someone tell you that you aren't a good enough parent regardless of how many sacrifices you make.
> 
> It's really frickin' hard to be poor, ya know?


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for taking so long to update. Depression was really kicking my ass for a while. But I'm back! Let's get this ball rolling again...

The next morning, the sun was shining despite the low temperature, melting some of the slushy snow that clung to the sides of the city streets. This sun, welcomed by the local weather stations, was very un-welcomed by Peter who was woken by its light.

After initially cracking open his eyes, Peter quickly squeezed them shut again. He had a small headache, and it felt like he hadn't slept at all. Rolling away from the large windows to avoid the glaring sunlight, he tried opening his eyes once again and found a glass of water sitting on the bedside table. Not questioning its origin, the teen immediately propped himself up on his elbow and chugged the entire glass. When he finished, he was coherent enough to catch the scent of bacon and the sounds of clinking dishes and chattering people.

Eventually, Peter gathered enough energy to stand. After a quick stop in the bathroom, he walked out to the rest of the apartment. Tony's apartment.

"Peter!" May exclaimed from her seat at the small kitchen table. Instantly, she was standing and wrapping her arms around her nephew. "Oh my god, are you okay? I've missed you so much." She pressed her face into his shoulder and whispered, "I'm so sorry."

Of course, Peter returned the hug with equal strength. "It's okay. I'm okay. I've missed you, too."

Just when it looked like May would start crying, Tony stepped out from around the counter, wielding a spatula and a plate of freshly-cooked bacon. "Hey, now, let's keep the tears to a minimum for breakfast, alright?"

"Peter, coffee or tea?" Pepper asked, appearing next to Tony.

The teen pulled away from Aunt May. "Coffee, please. And water?" He was grateful that Tony and Pepper directed the conversation away from himself. The events of the previous night were a little blurry, and he wasn't ready to remember all the gritty details just yet.

Therefore, for the next hour or so, the four talked about anything except Peter's situation. However, it couldn't be avoided forever, and when the conversation lulled, May couldn't resist. She reached forward to hold Peter's hand with her own. "Hun, what happened last night?"

Peter dropped his gaze to the tiled floor, trying to find the right words for his memories. What  _did_  happen? What could he say? How could he look at his aunt and tell her 'I stole some kind of drugs because some kids told me to' or 'I got so drunk that I think I passed out,' let alone saying something like, 'One of the workers tried to grope me while I was practically unconscious'? It was too much to think about. It was too many things to put into words. Too much happened, and too many things went wrong, and‒

"Pete!" Tony was kneeling in front of Peter, gripping the kid's shoulders as he commanded, "Breathe, kid. Deep breaths. In and out, in and out." Acting as a model, Tony exaggerated his own breathing. Outwardly, the mentor kept himself steady, but inwardly, his heart ached. Having experienced them himself, Tony knew a panic attack when he saw one, and whatever happened to this kid was so horrible that the memory of it alone was enough to trigger one. "Hey, listen to me: you don't have to talk about it right now. You're safe."

When his breathing returned to normal, Peter said, "I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about," Tony reminded him.

With Stark in front of him, Peter could pretend that it was just the two of them. Avoiding eye-contact by staring at the Stark Industries logo on Tony's t-shirt, Peter whispered, "One of the staff members tried to touch me. But I was really drunk. Really tired. It was my fault for not being‒"

The boy was cut off by Tony pulling him off the chair and into his arms on the kitchen floor. He did this to comfort Peter but also to prevent the kid from catching a glimpse of the emotions in his mentor's eyes. The initial horror was swiftly replaced by sadness, and now that was being washed away by rage.

Pepper must have noticed the murderous look in his eyes because she moved from embracing May in order to pull Peter from Tony. She suggested a few minutes of escape to Tony, "Why don't you put on another pot of coffee? The rest of us will move to the couch where we can work through this together, okay?"

Numbly and wordlessly, Tony rose from the ground and turned back to the kitchen. After running his hands through his hair and taking a few more deep breaths, he focused on the physical task of scooping coffee grounds.

Meanwhile, Pepper guided Peter back to the living area with May following. Immediately upon taking the teen under her arm, Pepper was softly saying, "It's not your fault. We believe you. It's going to be okay. It's not your fault."

By the time Tony had calmed down enough to return with fresh mugs, Peter was saying, "I don't want to talk about this anymore. I just want things to go back to normal." Tony instinctively sat next to the boy who had pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his head into his arms.

"I won't let you go back there," May said. "We'll report this, and if nothing else, they can move you. Right?" She looked to Pepper and Tony.

Tony scoffed. "It's been over a week since he was placed and they still haven't contacted you with a phone number for the house he's in. I bet they don't even have him correctly recorded in the system yet."

"The decision to report this should be up to Peter," Pepper responded calmly.

Peter mumbled into his arms when he answered, "I don't want to report him. I don't want to start anything like that. They wouldn't care anyway. No one cares there."

"A report would take too long to be filed and taken care of anyway," Tony grumbled. He shook his head.

Before she could stop them, tears welled up in May's eyes, and her voice broke as she said, "Then I don't know what to do. I can't do anything faster than what we're already doing!"

Pepper rushed to calm her. "Forget the other applications. Stark Industries can hire you, I promise. That way‒"

"It'll still be too slow!" May practically yelled, reaching the end of her patience for the legalities and for the entire situation. Her nephew was hurting and trapped, and there was nothing she could do. "I'd still have to work for a minimum number of days and submit the paperwork to prove my employment! And who knows how long it would take to get someone back out to re-inspect the apartment!" She was standing now, furiously pacing the area in front of the sofa.

"Mr. Stark," Peter whispered, moving his shaking hand to squeeze Tony's arm. "Please."

The boy didn't need to finish his beg to move Tony to parent-like action. With one forceful command, he stopped May in her tracks: "Enough!"

"Tony, do you have any ideas?" Pepper asked, hesitantly.

Without thinking it through, Tony looked up at the women and offered the opinion that had been at the back of his mind for the past few days. "To get a kid out of foster care, they need a guardian who can provide adequate shelter and food, right? You know,  _I_  have those things. Just sign over your guardianship of Peter to me. We'll get it notarized, take it to whatever office, and then Pete can come home with me. There, problem solved."


	15. Chapter 15

Adopt Peter?

That was Stark's plan?

Sure, the man was rich, but he was a stranger nonetheless. May hardly knew him. He seemed to genuinely care for Peter, but how could she be sure? Billionaires have secrets. What's Stark's? Why did he care so much about her nephew?

What would Ben have thought about this? Together, she and Ben had taken Peter in and committed to caring for him. Without Ben, she couldn't carry on. Not only was she disappointing Peter and Ben, but Peter's parents, too. May felt like a horrible parent; she couldn't even care for the one person in the world who she loved the most.

What would happen after she handed over guardianship? Would she go back to the apartment to try and salvage what's left of it on her own? Would she need visiting rights mandated by a judge?

What would happen to Peter? He would be living an entirely new life without May. He would want for nothing if he lived with Stark. Peter was still impressionable: he could change.

* * *

Adopt a kid?! A teenager?!

Why didn't Tony tell Pepper earlier?

What makes him think he can handle the responsibility of a teenager? Sometimes, Tony can be frustratingly spontaneous, and at other times, he thinks things through for days on end. It was hard to tell which scenario this was. Did he say it to make May quiet down, or has he been thinking about adoption this whole time?

Living arrangements would need to change. Would Peter live in this apartment? Probably. Would he transfer schools? No, completely uprooting him might be a bad idea.

The thought of Tony driving Peter to school was hilarious to Pepper. It was fun to imagine: career days with Tony Stark, Tony Stark as a field trip chaperone, lunch-mom Tony Stark, soccer-dad Tony Stark!

Actually, the more she thought about it, the cuter the idea became…

* * *

Like, adopt?

Well, that would take mentoring to a whole new level.

Would he leave May? Peter imagined living at the compound upstate with all the Avengers. That would be so cool! He could train as Spider-Man all the time!

Peter felt guilty for feeling a little bit excited, but he knew the kind of life Tony lived: fancy parties, international conferences, expensive cars, big houses… Tony Stark got anything he wanted as soon as he waned it with a simple, "Hey, FRIDAY!"

It would definitely be different than living at the apartment with May.

Plus, Peter could spend more time with Stark, one of his favorite people in the whole world.

Eventually, Peter's thoughts drifted as he thought of telling Ned. What would his best friend think?

* * *

Tony cleared his throat when no one had responded. "Well?"

Still no one spoke until finally Pepper admitted, "It's definitely a possibility that I hadn't considered before."

May sat down next to Peter on the couch. She asked, "Hey, bud, what're your thoughts?"

"What would you do?" Peter asked his aunt. Despite how much he wanted to live with Tony, Peter wouldn't leave May in the dust.

"We can still help May get a job and fix the apartment. You could see her as often as you want," Tony interjected.

Peter nodded. "Okay. I mean, I don't think this is the worst option. It definitely beats going back to the group home."

May pulled Peter into a hug while they sat. Peter's words were a deal-breaker. It was selfish of her to think so much about herself anyway: she needed to do what was best for Peter. He needed her to be the adult and sign the legal documents so that he could get back to being a regular kid again. She whispered, "Okay. Look up what paperwork we need. Let's do this. For Peter."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay soooo this story is pretty much over. I'll probably add an epilogue sort of chapter for this because there was like zero irondad fluff in this chapter, but that's it. 
> 
> However, I do want to write about Peter adjusting to being Tony's adopted son. I'm currently thinking of just some unrelated one-shots that I can upload as chapters to a story, but I prefer to write plots with rising/falling actions so I'm brainstorming. 
> 
> Let me know what you think about this possible plan of action for this story, or if you have any suggestions!


	16. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm taking a break from this story to work on something else, so I still haven't decided if I'm going to write any sort of sequel to this. Regardless, I wanted a cuter ending because I didn't like the last chapter. So here's the epilogue. Thank you to everyone who read, followed, and commented <3

"Here, don't forget your jacket! It's cold outside!"

"Thanks, Miss Potts." Peter slipped on his jacket before grabbing his schoolbag. His  _new_  schoolbag. He had already laced his new sneakers, too. On the first day back to school after winter break, Peter was going to look like a brand new man.

"C'mon, kid, there's traffic to beat," Tony urged. Not for the first time, he wondered if they had made a good decision not to transfer the teen to a closer high school.

Soon, the two boys said good-bye to Pepper and strapped themselves into one of Tony's more modest cars.

Peter was unusually quiet. "Nervous to go back?" Tony ventured.

Peter shrugged.

"You can talk to me, you know," Tony reminded him. Tony and Pepper had already talked about encouraging the kid to see a therapist in the near future. Unfortunately, it was difficult to find a therapist that they could trust with Spider-Man's identity.

"It's just…" Peter stopped short and sighed. "I have to see Mister Castine again. It's going to be weird."

Right, Tony thought. The guy who reported the Parkers after Peter snapped. Honestly, Tony was glad that the teacher did his job. If he hadn't, then Peter might not have ever called Tony. Things could have been a lot worse by now. "Don't talk to him if you don't want to," Tony advised. "See how this week goes. If it's too bad, you can drop the class and get a homeschool teacher for calculus."

"Get homeschooled in a single subject?" Peter asked doubtfully.

"Sure, why not? Lots of people know calculus. Hell,  _I_  could do it, no problem," Tony shrugged. He had seen the kid's notebooks: they weren't even learning linear algebra yet.

The thought of billionaire Tony Stark dressed in a sweater-vest and bowtie, teaching a single teenager from a blackboard made Peter laugh. He asked, "Would you do it for Ned, too?"

"Why not?" Tony asked, chuckling.

It wasn't long after that they pulled up to the front of the school. "Good luck, kiddo," Tony said. "Text me if you need me. You got your phone, right?"

Peter pulled his sleek, new phone out of his pocket. "Yeah, thanks again for that."

"Don't sweat it. Now get out there and show 'em what you're made of." Tony watched Peter climb out of the car. The other students who stopped to gawk at the shiny sports car made Peter blush and put his head down. Tony watched the kid bolt up the steps without looking back.

He grinned as he merged back into traffic. It wasn't just any kid now. Peter was  _his_  kid.


End file.
